


A Slytherin's Rivalry

by Sevn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Bullying, Drabble, Gen, Hogwarts Second Year, House Rivalry, Oneshot, Parseltongue, Pre-Drarry if you squint, house dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevn/pseuds/Sevn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s not like he was concerned about Scar Head. It was just that they had a routine, a way of reminding each other to watch their back."</p><p>After Justin Finch-Fletchley is petrified, the Heir of Slytherin Hype only gets worse. A look into different ways some of the houses may have approached the issue.<br/>or<br/>Draco can't stand it when Pottie ignores him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slytherin's Rivalry

    Potter’s silence was the most irritating bit of the whole situation.

Draco had gotten the rest of the Slytherin second years to make hissing noises as Scar Head passed in the halls, routinely asked when he planned to clean the school of mudbloods, and had even made sure to flick a dozen or so more pufferfish scales than usual at the back of his head in Potions.

Despite all this, all of his effort, Potter just took it. How utterly disappointing.

He peered across the heads of his housemates to the Gryffindor table. He was missing, again. The weasel and the mudblood were huddled by themselves, looking forlorn and whispering over their plates while a number of their house seemed to be keeping their distance.

Not too long into dinner, the two Gryffindors wrapped a mix of foods in a napkin- absolutely disgusting, he thought- and left the hall.

“Have you finished your transfiguration essay, Draco?” Daphne asked, neatly buttering a roll.

“No,” he drawled. He’d hardly touched his own plate, distracted and irate as he was.

Daphne sent him a warning glance, sensing his mood. “Well, you’d better get to it then,” she sniffed. “The rest of us finished it during Study Hall, while _you_ were moping. It won’t do if you lose us our lead for the house cup.”

He rolled his eyes but perked up when the table cleared to make room for dessert. With his current efforts in getting a rise out of Potter, he’d begun to slack off in the homework department. A whole three feet on methods of transfiguring hats into boots. Like he didn’t have a tailor for that sort of business. He licked a bit of souffle off his spoon. Worse even, he’d need to go to the library. Only Ravenclaws went to the library this late.

Draco swaggered out of the Hall with the other Slytherins once the meal ended, trailing behind a group of tired looking fifth years.

“I guarantee you, it’s one hundred percent resistant to parselmagics, from curses to hexes and even voodoo!”

He stopped and turned his head.

An older Ravenclaw girl was presenting a mix of younger hufflepuffs a pendent on a leather cord. She wiggled the fingers on her other hand, weaving it about like some Knocky-Hawker putting on a show.

“This is a very rare artifact, I’ve only got six of them and that’s because my uncle works with the Ministry. They’re worth fourteen galleons but in times like these…” She shook her head with an almost convincing air of sincerity. “I’d give it to you lot for just five galleons and nine sickles, I wouldn’t want to see any of you-,” she looked about fearfully. “ _Petrified.”_

The younger students all shuddered and watched, wide-eyed as it swung back and forth and a few even began rooting through their pockets for the money.

Draco sneered and hurried to catch up with his the Slytherins. How distasteful.

He should have thought of it first.

* * *

    Once he had collected his school bag and notes from the boys dormitory, and told Crabbe and Goyle to bugger off for a bit, he began the cold trek from the Dungeons to the Library. It was highly unusual for it to be this cold in the corridors, but he hadn’t really wandered the halls after dinner in a while, what with all that happened the last time he’d been caught wandering after curfew.

The memory of that detention made him shudder. He’d get back at the bumbling oaf for making him go into the forest, someday.

The opportunity would present itself in time. He’d have to mention the lack of heat to his head of house tomorrow. For now, a sneakily cast warming charm would do.

Once he arrived he waved innocently at the scowling Madame Pince and took a look about.

The only students there were a few Gryffindors and a handful of seventh year Hufflepuffs who were seemingly conspiring about one thing or another. He could care less about what.

After dropping his belongings off on one of the desks farthest away from anyone, he sullenly approached the book shelves.

Potions, Potions, History of Potions, Charms, more Charms…He cursed having left both his cronies back in the common room, as he’d usually delegated the task of finding books to either one of them which would leave him plenty of time to relax or sometimes even get a nap in.

He meandered down a random aisle, looking everywhere and nowhere at once when a quiet sniffle caught his attention. Draco scowled at the direction they came from, toward the end, likely leaning against the shelf on the filthy floor, just around the corner. No doubt some weepy, mudblood firstie.

He looked at the books to his left. Divination. Not what he’s looking for. To the right, Wizarding History. Still not right.

Nevertheless he glanced at the titles, wishing one would just jump out at him as useful. They didn’t, of course.

Draco was loathe to come across a bleeding mess like was at the end of the aisle but he had the worst feeling that, that was exactly where he would find his transfiguration books. Well, at least he’d have a story for Pansy when he got back.

He peered around the corner of the book shelf and, eyes widening, pulled back.

It was Pottie!

A part of him wanted to be absolutely thrilled but, another sniffle had him cringing. It was just too pathetic. He leaned his head back around the corner and took in his rival’s appearance.

Scar Head looked like someone had kicked his kneazle. Eyes red and glassy behind his hideous wire frames, and wild hair oddly wilted. His skin was a bit paler than usual too. Potter suddenly leaned forward and pulled a book from the shelf before leaving. Draco ducked back behind the shelves until the footsteps had gone and stepped out.

Potter had moved to a table in the darkest corner of the library, no weasel or Mudblood to keep him company.

A glance back at the bookshelf proved he’d thought correctly. Transfiguration.

Once he’d collected the books he required and returned to his table, he found it awfully hard to concentrate on his essay. Twirling his quill between his fingers, Draco tried to push aside the growing irritation that was building up within him.

It was always Potter, wasn’t it. He was just getting what he deserved for taking the spotlight from Draco that night. He had been supposed to cower in fear of that snake, not bloody talk to it! He huffed, and dipped his quill into the inkwell.

_It was in 1784 that a tailor in Duluth came to the realization that, while not a direct means of transfiguration, the transference of characteristics of the hat was enough to-_

But to be honest, Potter had looked awfully surprised about it too, or rather, confused. Like he didn’t understand what the big deal was. If _Draco_ had been a parselmouth he’d have- well he certainly wouldn’t have let everyone know like _that._ He had tact after all.

It’s not like he was concerned about Scar Head. It was just that they had a routine, a way of reminding each other to watch their back. With Potter’s lack of response, presence even, it all felt wrong. Honestly, Draco simply hated to be ignored.

A screeching of a chair startled him and looking down he realized with dismay that he’d left a giant ink blotch on his essay. As he grudgingly looked through his bag for more parchment, Potter strode passed him, unseeing, and out of the library. Draco watched him leave for a moment, before deciding to just do the rest in the common room with the notes he’d taken.

Sauntering out of the library, he didn’t care to notice the Hufflepuffs packing up their belongings as well.

* * *

    Draco was halfway back to the Slytherin Dormitory when, on a whim, he made a stop in the Loo. He washed his face and looked forlornly at the reflection of his bag, thinking of the sleepless night he’d have, when a great number of footsteps seemed to echo in the corridor outside.

Instinct had him hiding in a stall, standing on the toilet, seconds before the door banged open.

The shuffling came to a stop somewhere near the sinks and there was thump and gasp followed by jeering laughter.

“Heir of Slytherin!” A male voice cried, “I tell you this, I don’t care if you’re Merlin himself, Potter, but you keep away from the first years or you’ll regret it.”

“Not just them,” another voice joined in. “If I catch you so much as _looking_ in the direction of one of our ‘puffs, I’m going to hex you until you’re as green as the snake you really are!”

Another thump, a sharp exhale and more sneering comments.

“Ernie told us you’ve been making up stories,” yet another voice said, cheerfully. “Some silver tongued garble about telling that snake that you set on Justin to back off. Like anyone would be believe that.”

“Yeah, I was there, saw you tell it to attack him with a nasty smirk on your face. And when it didn’t work out, you waited until he was by himself, didn’t you.”

Draco bit his lip. There was no doubt what was going on here. Peering through the crack between the door and the wall of the stall he recognized two out of four as seventh year Hufflepuffs and blood traitors and he was quite certain the other two had to be sixth years just by the size of them.

“Didn’t give him a fair chance. So we won’t give you one.”

He was caught somewhere between admiring their loyalty to their house and being disgusted by their choice of location for this little right to-do.

A whimper drew his attention away from the group, where Potter was being crushed against the wall by a sixth year name Stuart McKinley. His wand was laying on the ground a few feet away.

The next voice that spoke nearly had Draco falling into the toilet.

“That’s not very nice you know.”

A wispy, semi transparent girl floated out from the tap. She looked horrible. Not, ill, nor just the pale of a normal ghost, but quite dull with terrible fashion sense, if her glasses were anything to go by. A bit like Pottie’s to be truthful.

“Get out of here Myrtle!” One of the boys snarled at her. “No one asked you and this is the _boys_ bathroom!” He swung his bag through her and she wailed.

“I hate you boys, you’re always so, so-” She screeched and everyone hurried to cover their ears except for Harry, who was dropped, and Daco who could afford to.

“I’m TELLING!” She shrieked and swooped through the wall into the corridor.

“Merlin, I didn’t sign up for this,” one of the Hufflepuffs grumbled. Another glowered at Potter.

“You were lucky this time, Potter. But I’m telling you this for the last time, keep your slimy snakey tongue to yourself.”

And they were gone.

Potter made no move to stand up. He merely curled his legs and wrapped his arms around them.

Draco swallowed hard.

As small sob echoed through the bathroom, he carefully stepped down from the toilet and pushed the stall door open.

Aside from Potter’s sobs, a leaky pipe drip dripped in sympathy. Draco sighed quietly and slowly moved towards the sinks. Potter’s sobs hitched and as he turned the faucet, washing his hands, he saw the other boy attempt to shrink into nothingness from the corner of his eye.

He saw the absolute horror in Potter’s sore, red rimmed and very wet eyes as he peeked up to see who it was, and the way he buried his face back into his knees when Draco turned to him.

Stepping directly up to the boy, Draco reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief, with a brilliant emerald ‘M’ embroidered on it. He fingered it a moment.

“Have some decorum, Scar Head,” He muttered, and presented the handkerchief to his rival. Potter didn’t so much as twitch, and anger started to bubble up in Draco’s stomach.

Of course, why was he even bothering. Precious Pottie was too good for the likes of him, to high and mighty to accept anything Draco offered. Even his hand when they’d first met on the train-.

He almost jumped when fingers connected with his for just a moment, as Potter took the handkerchief. His face was blotchy and horribly unattractive at the moment. It was unsettling.

Draco cleared his throat, not having noticed how tight it had gotten. “Right, well. Gryffindors are supposed to be daring, with great nerve, and such rot, yeah? Act the part, Scar Head. Shouldn’t be too hard for Gryffindork like yourself.”

He made a beeline for the door and just as it closed he thought he may have heard a hoarse, “thanks.”

* * *

    On his way back to the Slytherin Common Room he was passed by a Hufflepuff prefect, a fifth year by the name of Eric Miggery, or something, who was running towards the boy’s bathroom.

It wasn’t until Draco had dazedly climbed into bed that he realized he still hadn’t finished his Transfiguration Essay.

  


**Author's Note:**

> A chance to see another side of Hufflepuffs and allow Harry and Draco to evaluate what they are to one another in their second year.
> 
> I do not own the Harry Potter anything, that would be J.K. Rowling.
> 
> (Edited and a few rephrased sentences, Knocky-Hawkers is spur of the moment slang for peddlers in Knockturn Alley ;-D )


End file.
